


Cold but Lucky

by ImogenPortchester



Series: Depression Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Great Depression, M/M, Sick Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenPortchester/pseuds/ImogenPortchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean lost their lavish New York City lifestyle when the stock market crashed in 1929. Three years later and they've moved back to their hometown, taken shit jobs, and are trying to do their best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold but Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a verse that I'm trying out. I really hope you guys like it! I'm currently working on the second part, so hopefully it will be posted soon.

In his entire life, Dean couldn’t remember ever being this cold. Even when he went sledding on Christmas Eve with some buddies from school in the seventh grade—in which he didn’t wear a hat or gloves and had only put on a corduroy jacket before leaving the house—he hadn’t been this cold. Or maybe he had but it had been overshadowed in his memory by the fun he had that night, even though he had been scolded by his mother when he returned home for staying out too late.

He had a mind to just turn around and walk back home, but he had been standing in line for two hours already and he really needed to get this food. The soup kitchen opened at eight a.m. and he was the thirteenth person in line. (“Lucky thirteen,” he remembered Sam saying once, years ago. About what, he couldn’t remember.) If he left now, he would not eat a single breakfast this week, and he would not be able to smuggle anything home for Sam, and God knew Sam needed it.

Sam had been sick as a dog for two weeks now, and while he was starting to perk up, he still had a ways to go. A week of Sam with the flu meant a week without Sam’s income. That left Dean as their sole provider, and the few people who had automobiles weren’t exactly rushing out to get them fixed up these days. So that left them with very little money, and today specifically, it left Dean standing in the freezing cold outside of a soup kitchen.

Dean wished he had a watch so he could see how much time he had left until the doors opened. He wished he had a watch for a lot of other reasons, too, but right now this was his immediate desire. It couldn’t be much longer, he figured. He had heard the bell of a church a few streets away toll once already and that felt like ages ago. He cupped his hands to his mouth to breathe warm air into them, and then shoved them back into his coat pockets. He hoped he didn’t have snot dripping from his nose—his face was numb, so he couldn’t tell. He swiped his tongue across his upper lip to check and was relieved to find nothing. He regretted the action though, when the saliva froze on his lips. He rubbed them with a gloved hand then returned it once more to the feeble warmth of his pocket. A harsh wind blew past the line and Dean was grateful for a moment that he wasn’t at the front of it as he ducked his head behind the man in front of him. Behind him he heard someone exclaim as their hat was blown off. Maybe someone would be kind and hold his place in line for him while he chased it down. Dean knew that in that situation he would not be that person, nor would he dare step out of the line if his hat had blown off. He didn’t bother turning around to see.

Finally a man opened the doors and proclaimed that the soup kitchen was open—first come, first served. Dean smiled, knowing that he would indeed be served today.

The food was mediocre but it was hot and free and that was all that really mattered. In line, he gave the pretty young volunteer his best puppy-dog eyes (Sam was far better at it, of course) and was able to score two extra slices of bread, with only minimal eyeballing from the guy behind him. He ate quickly and shoved the extra bread into his pockets for Sam. He stood, replaced his hat and turned his collar up, then headed back out into the frosty Toledo winter.

On his way home Dean passed the garage and waved to his boss who was standing in an open bay, directing a driver inside. Tim nodded to him then shut the door once the car was inside. Dean was by far the best mechanic at Tim’s Garage, so he was lucky to get three days of work per week. Earl, the other mechanic, usually only got one. Poor bastard, Dean thought as he passed. Earl’s wife had just had a baby.

He wished, like he did every day, that the damned stock market hadn’t crashed three years ago. He would still be working five days a week and Sam would still be trading stocks on Wall Street. He missed New York, but Toledo was okay—it was home after all. He and Sam had only lived in the Big Apple for three years before it all went south. After the crash they couldn’t afford to stay, so they moved back home.

Dean was lucky, he supposed, because he had a trade. A lot of people sold their cars in ’29 and hadn’t bought one since, but there were some lucky bastards who were still on the road. Of course, Dean wasn’t one of them. He and Sam never had a car; in New York they didn’t need one, and now…

Now they were dirt poor. Maybe a step up from dirt, Dean pondered, but he sure felt like dirt most days. Still, Dean knew how to fix cars, so he had a job. Sam had struggled to find a job at first when they moved back. After a few months Dean gave up the hope that Sam would ever find one, but Sam eventually found one as a janitor at the State Hospital, just a mile from where they lived. Sam was lucky to get that job. He hated it of course, and Dean didn’t envy him at all, but Sam really had no skills that were useful at the moment. He was smart as hell but he couldn’t do much with his hands, so that left him scraping the bottom of the barrel. He’d been a wealthy man in New York. Sam was good with numbers and he was great with money, but since no one had any money these days Sam didn’t have many options.

Dean mentally jumped for joy as he approached the house, desperate to get out of the cold. He grimaced at the brass ‘9’ that had lost a screw, so it was turned upside down and resembled a ‘6’. Sam had been on his case about fixing it, and Dean swore he’d get to it soon. Not today though, he thought as he fumbled for his key.

Before he could put it into the lock, though, the door opened to reveal Sam, standing in his long underwear with a blanket draped around his shoulders. His hair was a mess and his nose was an angry red, like he had been wiping it all morning. Sam’s socks had fallen down and bunched at his ankles. Dean frowned and pushed past him.

“Get back in bed, Sam,” Dean ordered as he took off his gloves and hat. He almost forgot about the bread before hanging his coat on the rack next to the door.

“Here,” he shoved the crumpled bread into Sam’s hands, causing Sam to drop the blanket.

Sam looked like he was going to cry. He abandoned his blanket and made his way over to Dean who had taken a seat in the tattered armchair next to the fireplace. He tried to offer Dean a piece, but Dean just shook his head. He had already eaten and this was for Sam.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered.

Dean nodded, rubbing his outstretched hands together before the fire. “Get back in bed,” he repeated.

Sam took a bite of the bread and collected his blanket. He sat down on the wooden floor next to Dean and leaned his head against the arm of the chair. Dean sighed.

“Sam…” he started.

“I’m feeling better.” Sam interrupted. “And I can’t stay in that bed a minute longer or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Dean didn’t respond, knowing that Sam wouldn’t do what he said anyway. Little brothers never do what their older siblings want. It’s just how the world works, Dean guessed.

Dean stared absently into the fire while his hand dropped to the top of Sam’s head. His fingers threaded through the greasy hair. Sam sniffled. Dean looked over and saw that his eyes were closed and his jaw moved up and down, chewing slowly on the bread.

“Sam?” Dean whispered.

“Hmm…” Sam hummed in response.

“Let’s go lay down.”

Sam swallowed and looked up at Dean. “Okay.”


End file.
